Am I Alone in This Fight?
by Stay Country
Summary: She's got no one. It's always been this way. When worst comes to worst she relies on herself and only herself. It gets harder to pick the pieces up every time, but somehow she does it. She just does. One-Shot.


**A/N: Little pieces from Angela Shepard's life and thoughts about her lifestyle. The writing changes throughout- nothing to confusing. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

She was two when her daddy left her.

Tim was nine going on ten and Curly was three. Her daddy wasn't the same daddy to her brothers, though. Tim's father showed up every now and again. She didn't know where he went or why he ever wanted to come back. Another woman was definitely where he left off to, but she wasn't allowed to voice that. Her opinion on that subject could lead to a back hand to the face. In fact it had more than once. Her best guess was that he came back because of stupidity. There weren't many other possible reasons.

Then there was Curly. They weren't even sure who his real dad was. Mama Shepard had been going through a rough patch around the time he was conceived-well- rougher than usual. Curly didn't seem to mind. When Angela was six and asked him about it he'd shoved her out of his room, though, and told her to go bother someone else.

She didn't care much for questions after that.

Angela didn't want her daddy to be with her, though. She didn't care if he was gone like yesterday's chicken. He wouldn't have been good enough for her. No, sir. No man her mother had ever brought into that house had been good enough for her or her brothers. Every single one an idiot with a dick.

She didn't mind announcing that to everyone she knew, either.

If her mom would bring in a decent guy, even once, maybe Angela and the boys would have a chance. But as many could tell, they all were going on a long, hard road to nowhere. Maybe with Tim it wasn't as obvious- even Curly could look like a swell guy every once in a while.

Seeing Angela, though, the poor girl with dark, dark eyes and the long black hair and the scowl that hardly ever left, it was hard to imagine any of them making a decent living with a good spouse and healthy kids. When you saw her you could almost feel the slap that her mother had sent her way or the silent tears she cried when her brothers screamed at her for no reason.

When you saw Angela Shepard you felt like her. You felt like nothing.

Angela wouldn't show her pain, though. It wasn't worth it to let them see your tears or have them look at you and know all the fear you were trying to hide. She kept a strong front in hopes that maybe you wouldn't happen to catch that lonely look she would sweep across almost every soul that stared or walked her way.

She kept her skirt short, her top low, her makeup heavy and her hair long because _these _were the only qualities she'd ever known. They were the only things that made people look at you in a way that was not pity. She saw a church boy look at her once with those eyes after she'd spent hours doing herself up and everything. She didn't think she'd stared someone down so long and hard in her life. Needless to say, the looks people gave her were not foreign. She knew how to handle them.

_Keep your head high, Angie, _she'd tell herself at night, _you don't need their sorry looks._

And she did. She kept her head high- the fakest of respect anyone could ever set on themselves. She looked down on everyone else- no matter what class they belonged to and she didn't take pity. She wouldn't ever.

_Don't feel sorry for me, _she'd think, _feel sorry because you're not me._

And it was all a lie. Deep inside, she knew that. Angela Shepard knew how pitiful and heartbreaking she looked every time she stepped foot out of that house where her daddy had left her at the tender age of two. She wouldn't accept it, though, because she didn't have to. There was no reason to.

Angela Shepard was her own person and would believe what she wanted to. The rest of the world knew the truth, though. Most just didn't have the heart- or courage for that matter- to tell her.

* * *

"Fuck!" she yelled as the milk she was holding dropped everywhere. Small droplets of the liquid scattered on the outside of the puddle. The carton was empty now. Of course it was empty. They weren't used to having it and now that they finally got to go shopping she fucks it up. _God dammit. _

At sixteen, Angela was used to hearing how much of a screw up she was. She heard it from everyone-her mom's boyfriends especially. Most of them liked to put her down so far that she thought she was being buried under the ground. She hated all of them. _All of them. _None of them were given an exception. None of them _deserved _one.

The newest boy toy her mother had been bringing around was Andrew. He had come into the house expecting to be treated like the new dad. He even figured Angela would call him_ Daddy_. For fuck's sake. He walked around thinking he deserved praise and respect from his new 'children'.

_You're not God, _she would think, _the only thing you deserve is a kick in the ass. _

Of course, by now Angela knew much better than to just voice something like this. He was a fucking joke. As long as she remembered that, there was no point in acting out.

She couldn't help how her blood boiled when he yelled at her, though, or how her voice rose anytime someone stepped just a little too far over the line. She wasn't as big a screw up as they all thought. In fact, they were all as bad as her- if not worse. She was just easier to target and pick on because she was younger.

Andrew wasn't even that bad-not as bad as some of the others. Some of them caused her to shiver just by saying their name. No, Andrew wasn't _that _horrible. He was a decent guy when he didn't have a drink in his hand or when he hadn't had to work all day. He only had a bad temper that was easily ignited. Angela Shepard knew how to ignite it, but mostly tried to ignore that flame at all costs.

It was often a waiting game when it came to his mood, though.

Angela sidestepped the milk, making a bee line for the paper towels. She knew the steps were coming, she could hear their heavy landing as they made their way down the steps and around the corner.

"What the fuck happened in here?"

She didn't turn. She didn't speak. She continued to grab the towels, but tried her hardest to ignore him. Sometimes he would forget why he'd even walked into a room and he'd just leave. He was easier to ignore than to deal with.

"_Angela!" _he snapped and she felt herself jump slightly.

She got angry with herself incredibly quick at that moment. She was Angela Shepard- strong, hard-headed Angela Shepard. She wasn't some scared little girl who couldn't handle her mama's boyfriend. She quickly composed herself and turned with the paper towels now in hand.

"I spilled the milk," she said nonchalantly.

Andrew's eyes surveyed the area in a menacing sort of way. He grumbled something and rubbed at the dark stubble on his chin. The stubble she knew her mother hated because of the late nights Angela would come home and hear her mom and Andrew fighting about the stupid little things. One night happened to be about the stubble below his mouth that ceased unevenly at the top of his neck.

Those fights were ridiculous. Angela didn't understand them. She guessed having two people drunken out of their minds in the same room could do that to a conversation, though. Lord knows it had probably happened to Angela a countless number of times and that she had been so out of it that she just couldn't remember the situation the next day.

Tammy Shepard and Andrew Carson were always like that.

Angela glanced towards him before getting down on the floor. She started to sloppily wipe up the mess she had made as she felt Andrew's stare burning into her.

_Don't you stare at me. Don't you even fucking glance at me. _

Andrew wasn't a big guy but he sure had a gut and at the moment it stuck out like he'd just eaten too much. He was balding up front and you could tell he tried to hide it by combing the back hair up a little. It wasn't a great fashion statement.

"Maybe you should be a little more careful," he said as if he were talking to a five year old.

There it went, that little snap inside of her. She felt her blood start to get warmer ad she clenched her teeth, biting her tongue while she was at it.

_Thank you captain obvious, _she clenched her teeth a little harder; _you are so fucking smart it's unimaginable._

She cleaned it under his stare. He didn't move, not even when she'd finished. She brushed passed him, forgot about the milk she wanted, and thanked God that the situation wasn't as bad as it should've been. She knew it could've ended differently. Maybe he's in a better mood, though. Maybe he's better today. Then she hears the clink of beer bottles.

Or not.

* * *

"What are you _doing?" _he asks before she can yell at him to get out of her room. He stares at her as if he's done nothing. No matter how old they get, her brothers will never care about her privacy. She couldn't count the number of times she'd been standing in her bra and one of her brothers decided to barge in. Every time was as embarrassing as the time before it.

She's told them, though, and they know that. No damn respect. That's what the problem is. And Angela somewhat understands what her mom is constantly preaching. _No one cares. No one listens. Doesn't give anybody an ear. _

Yeah, she understood. She didn't give two fucks, though. She had her own problems where she didn't have to worry about her mom's similar issues.

Besides, if anyone deserved respect it sure as hell wasn't her mother.

She sighs and sets down the small mascara brush that she bought a week before. She looks in the mirror at the half-done job before placing her hands on her hips and turning towards Curly. He just stares. She thinks he's an idiot. He thinks the same of her.

"I'm doing my makeup," she gestures towards the vanity, "_Get out."_

He smirks once he realizes he's hit a nerve because he hasn't meant to. Now that he knows he has, though, it's actually kind of funny. Opportunities like this only happen on occasion and he decides to dwell on the moment.

Curly and Angela were never extremely close. Of course, Angela never gave anyone except herself the time of day and Curly was usually too stoned to understand half the things people were trying to get through his head anyways.

No one knew just when the feud between the two siblings had actually begun. It was an ongoing sequence. Curly bothers Angela, Angela yells, Curly pushes her, Angela tells him to fuck off and so on.

Back when Curly and Angela were younger, Angela had been mad at Curly for making fun of her in front of his friends one day. When she got home she had immediately gone to Curly's room and destroyed everything in her path. She colored on the walls. She found a lighter and set fire to everything that would light. She almost burned the house down.

Whoever had been her 'daddy' at the time had tanned her hide. Curly didn't ever say he forgave her. She still didn't know if he had.

So, they had their ideas of when the anger had originated between the two, but they truly did not fully know. It could've just been they weren't meant to get along. Angela wouldn't be surprised if that was the answer.

Since she could remember, though, it seemed like the only thing Curly knew how to do was bother her. And she had to admit he was pretty damn good at it.

"Why can't I watch?" he asks in that irritating tone he saves for his siblings, "I wanna understand how girls make themselves look so _good._"

Angela wants to slap him. He does it on purpose. He talks like a child, as if he's some innocent cherub or something. The whole world knows he's not so Angela doesn't understand the point of the act. Attention would be her only guess. It's not the kind of attention she could ever imagine wanting, but if it suits Curly's desires then she figures he can do with it what he wants.

Just not to _her, _though.

Angela smacks herself in the face and rubs down. If her nerves hadn't already been forced to their breaking point they were about to. She pointed out the door, kept her teeth clenched and stared Curly straight in the eye. Maybe she'd get her point across. That's all she wanted, was for someone to get what she wanted and give it to her.

"_Go."_

Curly shakes his head once, "Angie, I think you're forgetting who the older sibling is in this conversation."

She can't believe she puts up with this shit on a daily basis.

He smirks again and she knows he's received that quality from Tim. The little copycat had picked up so many learned traits from the older brother that they had almost the same reaction to any situation. Someone says something wrong to you? Hit them. Someone needs your help? Make sure you're getting something in return. Girl wants to fuck you? Make sure she didn't do your brother the night before.

Angela acted off of instinct just as much as her brothers, though. She knew she had no room to talk. She also didn't have to deal with her older brother being a nuisance.

"Curly, get the _fuck _out of my room before I scream," she threatened.

He laughed.

_Don't you laugh at me you jackass. It's not funny._

"There's an idea, Ang. Get Daddy Andrew to come up here and beat both our asses. That's so _smart _of you," she hated his sarcasm. He sounded like an idiot.

She scowls. "He wouldn't dare lay a hand on me," her face had scrunched up in disgust. No way would she allowing another 'daddy' to boss her around. She was about damn near done with it.

Curly rolled his eyes back and shook his head. "Yeah, because it's so hard to lay a hand on that pretty, little, innocent face of yours," sarcasm again, "Then scream, girl. Go on. 'Cuz I don't care what he does to me none. It'll just be funny to see you be proved wrong."

She growled and walked over to the door, "Go. Away!" he stepped back and she slammed the door in his face.

She leaned against the door and let out a frustrated noise. She rubbed her hands down her face being careful of the makeup that had already been set. God dammit, Curly. Go ruin someone else's evening.

She stomped back over to her vanity and finished her makeup for the night. She couldn't wait to go out and forget her damn family for a few hours. God knows she couldn't finish anything without at least one person bothering her around this house. Not ever.

* * *

"Oh God," she groaned as he pushed inside her once more. Their naked bodies were on top of each other, switching places and positions. It was hot in that room. They were sweating. She gripped at his back, grasping for something to hold on to-something to reassure her. That's what she searched for- every time- a rock that would keep her in place if only for a few seconds.

His heavy body was placed on top of her. His full weight wasn't on her but she felt her legs being pinned down. He was so much bigger than her. She'd done all different kinds of men. She liked the bigger ones.

He knew how to work her. He stopped pushing for a moment and she bit at his neck, begging for more.

This was Angela's escape. This and alcohol. She enjoyed this more, though.

"Don't stop," she cried out, biting again, "Don't."

He started again and he shoved hard and she let out a few more yells and words. She allowed herself to let go for a moment and just feel him. She just wanted to feel _him. _God, he was so sweaty and heavy. She clawed at his back. He grunted. In and out. In and out.

He was numbing her and that's all she wanted. She wanted to stop the pain. All the _fucking _pain. She didn't want to feel the slap she received the week before for back talking, or the words Tim had said to her when he found her drunk on the couch or the way Curly looked at her every day because of how she _acted_.

Dammit, it was their fault she was like this! They never tried with her- they never gave a damn! Fuck, she could've had a chance in the Goddamn world and they sat there on their asses like she was a puppy! All they had to do was feed her and clean her up every now and again. Well, fuck them.

This was her Goddamn payback.

She wanted to forget every fucker who crossed her path and screwed with her. She let someone take her. No matter who they were. They could do her left, right, and upside down. It didn't matter to her. She needed to numb herself. They could do it whatever way they wanted to as long as they got the job done.

And Angela Shepard would never feel bad about never seeing him again. She wouldn't feel bad when she left in the middle of the night before they could get a good idea of what she looked like. And she wouldn't feel bad when she fucked a new guy the next night. Because it wasn't Angela Shepard's problem if they were too clingy to understand a one night stand or if they were the kind of guys who liked to point out their prize to all their friends.

She liked sex and booze. She didn't care if anyone knew she was doing it or not.

His body was getting heavier with each second and she felt out of breath. She hadn't gone this hard in a while. She hadn't _needed _to. His breath was ragged and for a moment it seemed that with all the sweat and heat that they'd used all their energy. He pushed again, though, and Angela shot up slightly from the force.

God, it felt good. It felt like nothing she'd ever felt and it hurt so _Goddamned _much that she never wanted it to stop. She didn't want him to stop shoving himself inside her. She wanted to stay like this forever, where the only pain she felt made her feel better. It didn't hurt her like anything else.

She yelled out and he suddenly collapsed. Her hair was soaking wet from the sweat. She really was short of breath. He was breathing heavily.

_Don't just stop! Don't you stop on me. Not now, don't._

She clung to him for a moment. She wanted to tell him to never stop- to just keep going. She knew it would never happen, though. In an hour she'd be gone, drunk maybe. He would just be a memory that would eventually fade. Just like every other guy, she'd forget him. No matter how amazing the moments had been, they would blend with the old. They'd be gone.

She tried to kiss him and make him start again. Her desperation was so sorrowful that she even noticed it. She stopped. It was over until the next time. She'd wait until the next night she went out. She'd find a new guy. She'd forget about this one. She would hurt and erase. Hurt and erase. Hurt and erase. Until it all became so numb to her that it just wouldn't be worth it.

Angela Shepard didn't care what anyone thought of her. Every new guy was her new savior. She couldn't even count the amount she had by now. She wasn't even sure she wanted to.

* * *

**A/N: Hey…;) So, I don't know. I wanted to try an Angela story because I love them. This is most likely a one-shot. Unless you guys want more? Just let me know because I am most likely able to do more. This is all I wanted to do right now, though. So…yeah. Review? I'll give you a virtual hug. It's better than a real one because it's not awkward;)**


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